


So Alive

by zillah1199



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Boots - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, hot legs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 22:04:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8418829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zillah1199/pseuds/zillah1199
Summary: This sort of fell out of my keyboard in response to a couple of posts on fendersappreciation.tumblrFenris is a leg man.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TearsOfWinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearsOfWinter/gifts).



“I don't know what color your eyes are, baby  
But your hair is long and brown  
Your legs are strong, and you're so, so long  
And you don't come from this town”

“So Alive” Love And Rockets

**

“Wicked Grace@Izzy's Fri.”

The text came linked with a map and directions. Their little group usually met at Varric's place, but the dwarf was still out of town on a book tour, and they'd agreed to relocate rather than cancel.

Unfortunately, the change of scenery was doing nothing for Fenris' game, although Merrill and Hawke were doing better than usual. Bowing out of the hand, he poured himself a glass of wine and studied his surroundings.

Isabela's apartment was not what Fenris expected. It was sleekly modern, and elegant. The walls were decorated with artwork, mostly photographs and art prints. Most of them were of bodies, which Fenris would have expected, but that they were tasteful and artistic came as something of a surprise. Fenris would have predicted something more pornographic, but they were, in fact, quite beautiful. Definitely nudes, rather than naked people. 

He paused to examine a particularly stunning black and white photo of two women's legs, one pair dark and curvaceous, the other light and delicate, tangled together against a black silk sheet. The photographer had framed it perfectly, creating an image that was suggestive, even erotic, without displaying anything more revealing than the women's legs.

Hawke followed the elf's gaze and smirked. “I like the one above it better.”

Fenris raised his glance and wasn't surprised to find a stark, art deco inspired print of a woman displaying a set of improbably large breasts. He laughed. “Why am I not surprised, Hawke? They are.. impressive, but not to my taste.”

“Fenris is a leg man, Hawke.” Isabela pointedly propped hers on the card table, crossed at the ankle. Fenris gave them an admiring glance. In truth, her legs were what had attracted him to her in the first place. Most men hit on her for her (admittedly) impressive cleavage, but it was the lushness of her thighs and the smooth curves of her calf that had first caught Fenris' eye. It hadn't worked out, of course. Isabela wasn't interested in the kind of serious relationship Fenris craved. But they'd remained amicable, and she'd drawn him into her circle, into what was probably the first group of real friends he'd ever had.

“Hey, I've got great legs!” Hawke stuck his out from under the table and pulled up the ankle of his jeans to reveal...the hairiest appendage Fenris had ever seen. Hawke's legs were nice – if you liked them thick and muscular. Fenris preferred something a little leaner, less beefy. And a lot less hairy. He imagined that bedding Hawke would be a lot like bedding an overgrown dwarf. 

The side of Fenris' mouth quirked slightly. “Is that a bear in your trousers or are you just happy to see me?”

Hawke roared with laughter, then put his hand over on his chest, swooning dramatically. “Ah, Fenris, you break my heart.”

The elf just shook his head fondly, and returned to his seat for the next hand.

Several hours and a few glasses of wine later, Fenris excused himself to use the facilities.

Unzipping his pants he looked up, straight at another photograph. Because _of course_ Isabela had artwork over the toilet.

It was another black and white photograph, this time of a man, nude from the waist down. The subject was pissing into the urinal in front of him, (because that was just Izzy's sense of humor) although everything in the frame except the man's body was in soft focus. The image cut off just above the small of his back and just below his knees, so that his bare backside dominated the image. His legs were spread slightly and disappeared into a set of black boots adorned with multiple straps and buckles. 

And, oh what legs. Long and lean. Toned but not overmuscled. Pale as porcelain with just the faintest dusting of hair. A smattering of freckles on the backs of his thighs and the dimpled curve of his ass.

Damn it. Now Fenris was hard as a rock. There was no way he was going to be able to pee in this condition. He tried to distract himself, thinking of mundane things like work, paying bills, cleaning his own toilet. Which made him think of urinals, which made him think of the urinal in the background of the picture, which brought his mind right back to those glorious legs. 

Fuck. He was stuck here, trapped by his own erection, unless he did something about it. He was _not_ masturbating in Isabela's toilet. Not that she'd mind, really, but it was the principle of the thing. You just didn't jack off when you were a guest in someone's home. His groaned quietly. His eyes drifted back to the picture, the play of shadows along subtle muscles, the dip and curve of firm buttocks. The backs of his knees and the slight swell of calves wrapped in leather and buckles. He realized he'd been slowly stroking himself as he admired the image in front of him. Well, fuck. It looked like he _was_ going to masturbate in Izzy's toilet.

Quick and dirty, then, he decided. And _quiet_. 

He began pumping himself in earnest, leaking enough precum not to need any lubricant. He imagined himself plunging into that taut ass from behind, gripping those thighs, feeling the smooth skin underneath his palms, just the slightest friction of leg hair. Or those legs wrapped tight around his waist, flexing with every thrust. He would throw them over his shoulder, lick the sensitive inside of the knee, feeling the muscles jump and twitch as the man came around his cock.

Fenris bit down on his hand to stifle a moan as he came, hard, at that last thought. By the time he'd cleaned up his mess, his cock had softened enough that he could actually use the toilet for it's intended purpose. He washed his hands, splashed water on his face and hoped no one asked why he'd been in here so long. 

Hawke answered the call of nature a few minutes later. He came out laughing. “Hey Izzy, I love the picture over your toilet. That's pretty funny.”

“I know, right! It's an original Cousland. So's that one over there.” She pointed to the photo that Fenris had admired earlier.

“Is that someone famous?” Merrill wandered over to the wall, cocking her head at the pictures.

Hawke nodded. "She's 'all that' in Ferelden right now. She started out as a spoiled little rich girl. Daughter of the wealthiest family in the country, debutante, studying at the best art program in Denerim. Then the Blight War happened and her family was killed. Massacred, all of them. She became a combat photographer. A damn good one, too. Even after we fled Lothering, Mother still kept up with the Ferelden papers. Her stuff was all over the place. She won a couple of serious awards for her images of the Fort Drakon battle. Suddenly she was the tragic orphan with the happy ending. Ended up marrying King Alistair, then spent her honeymoon working in Amaranthine, shooting the siege there. Every good Ferelden knows who she is.” He looked back over his shoulder. “I didn't know you knew her.”

“I did, back when she was in art school. She was friends with a friend of mine, Zev. Ended up fooling around with her a few times.” She winked at them. “Those are my legs in the picture there.”

Merrill leaned forwards, peering into the frame. “Oh! That must have been before your tattoo, then. But, oh look, there's that funny little birthmark of yours, you almost can't see it.” Her finger hovered over the surface of the frame.

“Who is in the one in the bathroom then?” Fenris hoped his voice sounded casual.

“Don't know. Elissa never said. Only that it was someone she'd known in Amaranthine and that she thought he'd been killed in the siege there. Must have been someone she was fond of, since she ended up taking care of his cat.”

Wonderful. He'd just masturbated to a picture of a dead man. Fenris scrubbed his hand over his face. He decided that he was never, _ever_ , using Isabela's bathroom again, even if it meant risking kidney damage.

**

The next Wicked Grace night was back in it's usual locale, and, to his surprise, there was a new face at the table when he arrived.

“Fenris, this is Anders, an old friend of mine from Ferelden.” Fenris nodded at the man, a tall, handsome sandy blond with dark eyes and a hint of beard scruff. “He just transferred here from Denerim. Now he's working at the Darktown clinic.”

“You are a doctor, then.”

The new guy, Anders, nodded. “I am.”

“At the Darktown clinic?” Hawke glanced over his cards. “Not the Chantry wards?”

Anders grimaced. “I prefer to stay away from religious institutions.”

Varric laughed. “Don't let Choir Boy hear you say that.”

“But Varric,” Merrill blinked at him. “You know Sebastian never comes to card night.”

Varric patted her hand fondly. “I know Daisy. So, Blondie. Charity work? That sounds dismal.”

“Not always. I feel like I'm doing some good there. In Denerim it was all paperwork and bureaucracy. I hated it. I wanted to do real work. Help people. A friend, well, a former lover, actually, had worked up here for a few years and he recommended it to me. So, here I am.”

“So how do you know Isabela?” Fenris wasn't sure why he asked. He already knew the answer. Really, how did anyone know Izzy?

Anders chuckled, a slight blush tinging his cheeks. “Ah, well. We, um, well, had some of the same hangouts.”

Isabela laughed, outright. “Oh, Sparky, don't be so modest. We hooked up in a strip bar in Denerim one night. One night turned into two, then three and a few more. We got to be friends and hung around together a bit. Then he started his internship, I moved away and we lost touch. I just happened to run into him in a coffee shop last week.”

Anders grinned. “I couldn't believe it. Of all the people I never expected to run into in Kirkwall...”

“So we had lunch, I invited him to Wicked Grace, and here he is.”

“So tell me, Rivaini, why do you call him Sparky? I'd go for something like Doc, or, you know, Blondie, myself.”

She smiled, one of those rich, naughty smiles she had. “One night were were drunk off our asses at a friend's house. The friend was heavy into BDSM. She had this thing called a violet wand, that puts out an electric charge. Let's just say someone got _very_ good at using it.” She patted Anders fondly on the arm as he blushed furiously.

“Ah, well.” Anders rubbed the back of his neck. “I was a bit wild when I was younger.”

Isabela waggled her eyebrows. “You should see him in black leather.”

Hawke covered his eyes. “Maker, Isabela. TMI! We just met the poor guy. Try not to scare him off before we've won all his money.”

The evening proceeded without further personal revelations. Anders was a terrible card player, but he was good natured about losing. It soon became apparent that the man was intelligent and compassionate. Fenris also found him extremely attractive, from his warm eyes, the slight dimple in one cheek when he smiled, to the tall lankiness of his frame. His politics were a bit extreme for Fenris' taste, but since they rarely talked about such things, it wasn't a problem. He seemed to fit in rather well with the others, and soon became a regular. 

***  
Card night was coming up at Izzy's again, this time because Varric was having his place renovated and Fenris knew, just _knew_ , he'd end up having to pee. And there it would be. That picture. The picture that just wouldn't leave Fenris' mind. More than once he found himself hard and wanting, those long, long legs seared into that back of his eyelids. He felt creepy, jerking himself off to this image of a man he knew nothing about save that he was deceased and that he'd had the finest pair of thighs Fenris had ever laid eyes on. He didn't know the man's name, his age, not the color of his eyes or hair. Whether he was kind of person he'd been or what made him laugh. It was so morbid, Fenris could almost say the man was haunting him, except that made it even creepier. 

To be safe, Fenris got himself off twice before he left.

The evening was nearly over and Fenris had managed to avoid using the toilet, but only by rationing his drinks carefully. He'd managed to nurse the first glass of wine nearly all night. He was seated across from Anders tonight and frequently found himself admiring the play of light along the man's jaw, and the way his hair gleamed rose-gold. 

He shook his head and forced himself to concentrate on his cards. He really didn't need the complications of a crush on the man. He knew that, like himself, Anders was bisexual, but he had no idea what sort of thing Anders found attractive. Or, more importantly, whether or not Anders was still as promiscuous as he'd apparently been in his youth, or if he was more inclined towards monogamy. 

That was important to Fenris. He'd allowed his last lover to talk him into an open relationship, and to say it had ended badly would be an understatement. Fenris had gotten out of the relationship with a bad case of poor self-esteem and a very unpleasant bout of syphilis. In hindsight, Fenris had realized his ex-lover was controlling, abusive and narcissistic. These days, he was very particular about his romantic entanglements. 

But, no matter how he tried to deny it, he knew he was starting to think of Anders romantically. The human was good company. Anders was kind and beautiful and his presence brightened up the room. Fenris found himself looking forwards to card night more than ever, enjoying the fluttery feeling in his stomach when their glances crossed over the table; that subtle sizzle that came with new crush. He felt invigorated, alive. It had been a long time since he'd felt that way and he'd missed it. He frequently caught himself imagining what the Anders' legs looked like under the soft, loose jeans he wore. 

Occasionally he wondered if maybe Anders might be feeling something similar. That feeling when their eyes met – and they did meet, often. The way Anders sometimes bumped against him when they sat next to each other. The dimple that formed in the man's cheek when he smirked at one of Fenris' dry jokes. He'd wanted to say something, ask Anders out for coffee, or a drink, but his nerve always failed him at the last moment. Maybe one day.

Anders folded out of the last hand and got up to use the toilet. Fenris knew Anders had seen the picture when he heard the man laughing through the bathroom door. Apparently Fenris was the only one who hadn't found the photograph hilarious.

“Maker, Isabella! Is that my ass in your bathroom?” Anders stuck his head back in the room. “Why is my ass in your bathroom?”

Isabela's brows shot up. “Sparky! That's you in that picture? Elissa never told me who posed for it. Damn! I should have recognized you.”

Anders shook his head ruefully. “I'd actually forgotten all about it. Long time ago, you know.”

Isabela wiggled her eyebrows. “I hadn't. I've missed that ass.”

Anders pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “It's been right in there.” He laughed again. “I still have those boots somewhere.”

Fenris knocked over his glass of wine. He grabbed his napkin and began sopping up the wine before it spilled over the edge of the table. He refilled the glass and tried to ignore the conversation.

“Hmmm...maybe you'll wear them for me sometime.” Izzy's voice took on a purring quality. “Just the boots, mind you.”

“Tempting, but I'm just not that kind of guy anymore, sweetheart. Maybe I'm getting old, but I'm more into settled relationships these days.”

“Oh, boo, that's no fun.”

“What can I say,” Anders shrugged goodnaturedly. “I'm looking for Mr. Right.”

Fenris knocked over his wineglass again. Anders noticed it and grabbed a fresh napkin. “Let me help you with that.” Fenris' hands were shaking a little as Anders leaned over his shoulder and dabbed at the spill. The human's thigh was pressed against his side, and Fenris was trying desperately not to imagine what it looked like underneath Anders' jeans. Or think of black leather. Or anything that would make his burgeoning erection worse. He twitched as their fingers brushed against each other. He hoped Anders couldn't see the blush staining the tips of his ears.

“There, all better.” Anders wadded up the paper napkin and dumped it in the wastebin. Fenris shivered at the sudden lack of the human's body heat and tried hard to look anywhere but at into his eyes.

Hawke smirked. “I think someone's had a bit too much to drink. Maybe we should call it a night.”

Fenris smiled gratefully, even though he was stone-cold sober. 

“Ooh, you're right, Hawke, it's nearly midnight and my yoga group is meeting early tomorrow afternoon. I've got a new group of students, so I don't want to be all sleepy while I'm trying to teach, you see.” Merrill gathered up her shoes and coat.

“Are you alright to drive, Fenris?” The elf looked up to see concern in Anders' warm, honey-brown gaze.

“I...I am fine, thank you.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I do not live far, and I'm afraid tonight I was rather more clumsy than inebriated.”

Anders chuckled. “Maker the way you talk. Always so formal.” He leaned forwards and lowered his voice. “It's pretty sexy, actually.”

Fenris was at a loss for what to say, and merely blushed again.

The dimple in Anders' cheek reappeared. “Well, if you won't let me see you home, what about letting me take you out to dinner tomorrow?”

“Dinner?” Fenris' ears twitched and his stomach went all fluttery. “I would like that, yes.”

Anders eyes brightened. He took a folded square out of his pocket. “I was hoping you'd say that. It's a date, then. Here's my number. Call me tomorrow and we'll work out the details.” He brushed his thumb along Fenris' wrist as he passed him the paper.

They walked out to their cars in silence. Just as Fenris reached his, Anders touched him lightly on the shoulder. “You know I've been wanting to ask you out for ages. Don't know why it took so long.” 

Fenris ducked his head and smiled. “I am glad that you did.”

Anders smile was warm and promising. “See you tomorrow then.”

“Yes. Tomorrow.” 

fin

**Author's Note:**

> There is actually some real-life inspiration for this. Many years ago a friend of mine got married, and at the reception, one of our friends went to the men's room and came back quickly with a funny look on his face. Apparently there was a picture hanging over the toilet that was supposed to be religious iconography of a female martyr, but the artist had made it (intentionally? Who knows) fairly erotic. Said friend came back, told us about it, and exclaimed: "I got a hard-on, I couldn't pee!"
> 
> Also I posed for a picture in art school very like the one of Isabela and friend. I was the pasty legs.


End file.
